


Rule One: Chris is Always Right

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:04:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Rule One doesn't apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rule One: Chris is Always Right

**Author's Note:**

> This was my contribution to the Joey Flash Ficathon. I got to write for Rhys!

There's nothing Chris hates so much as when Joey's right. He's not really fond of any time anyone who isn't him is right, but at the moment he's particularly annoyed with Joey.

It's not that Joey's not allowed to be right. Chris has no problem with it when Joey is, for example, agreeing with him. But this -- this is unthinkable. It doesn't matter, anyway, because Joey's clearly wrong.

Chris glares across the video set to where Joey's getting a last-minute touchup from a makeup artist. Joey winks at him. Chris glowers and yanks his gaze away.

Joey's an asshole. Chris does not want him, either. So there.

* * *

In the van on the way back to the hotel that night, Justin leans on Chris and blinks up at him with a beatific smile. Chris scowls, gives Justin a shove. Justin's not allowed to play on the fact that Chris is ecstatic to have all five of them together again; Chris won't let him. But he doesn't push him away a second time, and Justin sighs contentedly.

"You're wound up tonight," he comments, shifting against Chris's shoulder. "Thought you'd be all happy and shit."

"I am." Chris grinds his knuckles into Justin's thigh until he yelps.

"Chris is mad at Joey," JC pipes up from the back seat, where Chris thought he was asleep. Chris could slaughter JC right now. Fuck it, JC's not allowed to be right either.

Justin laughs, which promptly puts him on Chris's shit list as well. "Yeah? I saw him talkin' to you before the last shot. What'd he say?"

"Nothing." Chris stares out the window and tries to pretend he's alone. But Justin pokes at his side until Chris squeaks.

"Come on," Justin begs, as if he's fourteen and not twenty-four. "Tell me!"

"If you don't, I will," JC smirks.

Chris ponders poisoning someone. Maybe himself. Certainly Joey. Possibly JC, too. "He said I want him, but he's fucking off his nut -- did you _see_ the shirt he picked out to wear--"

It's no use; Justin grins hugely at him, gum cracking in his sharp white smile. "About fucking time," he says.

Chris can't do anything but blink at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" he blurts out.

"Dude, you've been crushing on him for, like, years," JC observes. "He's not blind, you know."

"Then why didn't he say something?" Chris mutters, staring down at his hands. This is just too strange for him.

"I think he was kinda hoping you would." JC leans forward, resting his arms on the back of the seat; his eyes are gentle. "You could have done something a long time ago, man."

Chris is starting to feel weird about this whole conversation; it seems like he should be having it with Joey, not JC and Justin. "Yeah. OK. Score one for Chris's lack of confidence," he says.

Justin rests a hand on Chris's arm; involuntarily, Chris looks up at him. It still startles him how fucking mature Justin looks. Cameron's been good for him, loath though Chris might be to admit it.

"Talk to him," Justin says, eyes sober. Chris sighs and nods.

* * *

It's almost five a.m. when they return to the hotel at last. JC and Justin get out of the van first, ambling for the elevator, leaving Chris to stumble along behind them. He's an old man, he's too old for these damn all-night shoots. He hears someone coming up behind him and freezes, but it's just Lance, good-naturedly bumping his shoulder and laughing. "Come on, Kirkpatrick, I'll get your walker."

"Fuck you, Bass," Chris snaps. He turns around to look, though. Where there's one, there's the other, so it doesn't surprise him at all to see Joey meandering along with Lonnie, both of them laughing at something. Chris feels a strange hot flush go through him. It's definitely not hate. Oh, he's so fucked.

By the time he walks with them to the elevator, one car's already ascending -- presumably with Lance, Justin, JC, and the other bodyguards. Chris stabs the call button with his thumb, willing a set of doors to open immediately. He can feel Joey's gaze, hot on the back of his neck. They're quiet in the elevator, in the hallway, until Lonnie pauses at Joey's door. Chris hesitates a moment and then, swallowing hard, says, "Look, can we talk?"

Joey nods and holds the door open; Chris goes in, nodding a faint goodnight to Lonnie before the door closes behind him. "Have a seat," Joey invites, already unbuttoning his sweaty shirt. Chris sits on the bed and tries not to watch him.

"I," he begins. He chokes when Joey turns to look at him, tears his eyes away from the strong broad bare chest and stares at the floor instead. "The thing you-- Fuck. You were right. Asshole," he adds hastily, to ease the sting of his admission.

"Yeah?" Joey's not laughing, which is a relief, but he doesn't sound terribly happy either. "Good. I thought so."

"Yeah, so. Yeah, I thought I'd let you know, and now you do, and I really need to get some sleep, wow, is that the time?" He pushes to his feet and starts for the door, feeling anything but sleepy. Maybe he'll go swim for an hour or ten. He's barely two steps to the door, though, when Joey's hand closes on his wrist. Chris curses under his breath and turns to look at Joey.

Joey still hasn't put on a shirt, and that makes him harder for Chris to be near, so much raw sexuality dizzying his senses. His eyes are dark, unreadable; Chris feels his heart thump, slow and heavy in his chest. "Joey," he says, hating the minute tremor in his voice.

"Aren't you going to let me say anything?" Joey asks, his tone deceptively mild. Chris swallows, unable to respond. He lets Joey draw him back to the bed, and sits again, unwillingly. So Joey knows Chris wants him. So what? It can't possibly mean anything. This is so high school--

He looks up suddenly, sharply, a new thought flooding his veins with shock. Joey stands before him still, eyes dark as before, but the tiniest smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "See, the thing is," Joey says, over the pounding of blood in Chris's ears, "if you'd just sit still for five seconds, I could tell you that I want you, too. Dumbass," he appends.

Chris wrenches his jaw shut and leaps to his feet. "Fucker!" he shouts, advancing on a now-laughing Joey. "Goddamned fuckhead, fucking leading me on like some kind of--"

He's backed Joey into a dresser now; one more step and he'll be pressed up to him, which is actually a pretty appealing idea. Joey's apparently noticed this too, because his hands are curling around Chris's shoulders and his eyes gleam with anticipation.

"Done?" he asks, teasingly.

"Nope," Chris says, and surges up to kiss Joey. It's as exciting as he's always thought it would be, the scratch of Joey's beard, his hot mouth, sweet delicious tongue on his lips, and Chris loves it, wants more, more, more. He's ready to climb up Joey and wrap his legs around his hips, to lose himself in Joey at last, so it's a relief when, instead, Joey urges him backward and they both sprawl across the gigantic bed.

"So I was right, huh?" Joey grins down at him. "You do want me?"

"Yeah," Chris says. He can be magnanimous, after all, especially when he's right. And he's always right.


End file.
